“Exactly so, Cap’en; and when he wakes by and by, I hope he’ll be himself again.”
“That’s good news! Did he tell you who he was before he dropped to sleep?”
“No,” answered Mr Rawlings, “he did not speak.”
“Not speak!” said the captain. “Why didn’t he?”
“He couldn’t,” replied the other. “Whether from the cut on his forehead, or what, I can’t tell; but he has had such a shock that his nerves seem paralysed. You noticed his eyes, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” said the captain, “but I thought that was from fright or a sort of startled awe, which would soon go off. I’m sorry I didn’t have a look at those spars before we cast them off; we might have learned the name of the ship to which he belonged. Don’t you think, Seth, though, that he will recover his speech and be able to tell us something?”
“Certainly, Cap’en, as Mr Rawlings says, I believe he’ll wake up all right.”
“Well, then, we’d better go below for breakfast now—here’s the steward coming to call us. Davitt can take charge of the deck,”—hailing the second mate as he spoke, and telling him to “keep his weather-eye open, and call him immediately should any change occur, but not to reduce sail on any account.”
“I wouldn’t have given him that order, if I were you, Cap’en,” said the mate, as they went down the companion together.
“Oh, Davitt isn’t a fool,” replied the skipper lightly; and the two entered the cuddy together, where they were welcomed by a hospitably spread table that spoke well for the cook’s culinary skill.